


Gotham Ghosts

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: Gaslights [6]
Category: Batman: Gotham by Gaslight (2018)
Genre: Gen, Gotham's going to Hell, Post-Movie, Scarecrow has arrived, fear toxin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-27 21:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13889679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: “Come down to the ground, little birds.” the monster rasps, eyes glowing yellow in the streetlights. The horse rears up, pawing at the air. “Come down and say hello to Scarecrow!”





	Gotham Ghosts

Tim is one thousand times more paranoid to be alone with his older brothers than he is dealing with Gotham’s unsavories. The unsavories might kill him, but his brothers (Jason, he’ll be honest, it’s mostly Jason) will make his life a living Hell.

Like now.

“Quiet night, baby bird.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Aww, you’ll miss it someday.” Jason jostles him, pushing him closer to the edge of the roof. Tim does a quick check for any questionable devices, not-so-hilarious notes tacked to his cape, or Clayface slime, and comes up with nothing. Good. “When you’re old and grey and trapped in a wheelchair, with noisy grandkids running around, you’ll look back and miss me.”

“No,” Tim says blandly, “I won’t. I’ll be grateful you’re not there to shove my wheelchair into a wall.”

Mask or no mask, he can feel Jason’s Done Look against the side of his head. Whatever.

“Really.”

“Really.” Jason flops down, head hanging over the side of the roof. Tim kicks his boot. “If you fall and die, I’m telling Dick you were doing the can-can and lost your balance.”

“What did I do to you, huh?”

“Salting my coffee was a poor life choice.”

Tellingly, Jason has no response. Tim settles down cross-legged and leans against a chimney. It really is a quiet night-it’s cold and there’s been…incidents. Horrible deaths, or people driven mad by terror. Bruce is trying to see if they’re related, but so far they can’t even find out if there’s someone behind it or if it’s an environmental problem.

It’s foggy tonight, and Tim can’t help but remember this time last year, when a man with a meat cleaver came after them for seeing too much. Jason’s not helping-slack-limbed as he is right now, he doesn’t look so different then he did when he had a knife embedded in his chest. Not that Tim’s going to admit it-his idiot sibling would return from the grave to mock him for being worried.

“I’m bored.”

“Go pester Dick.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

Great.

**Clip-clop, clip-clop.**

No wheels. Single rider. Tim would say _police_ , but those horses are heavier, and their riders jingle a little from their equipment. This is a lighter animal, built for speed rather than brute force. Who’s out at this hour?

The fog is doing an annoyingly good job of hiding them, whoever they are, and Tim reluctantly straightens up to go a little lower and find out. Jason’s already on his feet.

“There’s a balcony straight down.”

“I know.”

“Then go. Unless you’re scared.”

One day. One day he will push him off a roof and say it was an accident.

He sticks his tongue out and promptly dodges the grasping thumb and forefinger. Humph.

Going lower doesn’t really help. The lights cut through the fog a little more, but the rider’s whereabouts are difficult to pinpoint.

They’re moving slowly, anyway. No great hurry-there!

The wind and the light clear away the fog just enough to make them out. It’s a grey horse, and the rider is of indeterminate gender-the cape is also grey, and the hood hangs down to hide their face.

That’s both suspicious and irritating.

The horse stops, ears pricked forward, and the rider’s head looks both ways. Tim frowns. Are they waiting for someone?

Perhaps, perhaps not, but it doesn’t matter-a constable rounds the corner. Good. This will be resolved very quickly, he’s sure.

“State your business!” He moves up towards the horse, hand on truncheon, and tilts his head back. “What do you-”

Things happen too fast for them to do anything. A sword slices through fog, skin and bone and the constable’s head falls to the cobblestones with a terrible **thud.** Then the rider is gone, the ringing of hooves the only sign they were there at all.

They give chase. There’s clearly no helping the constable.

“The hell?”

“I don’t know.”

They catch up to the horse two streets over, though Tim’s getting the feeling that was intentional-it’s just standing there again, not even really out of breath. The rider appears to be looking at them, hands folded loosely across the animal’s neck. The sword is nowhere to be seen.

One hand lifts and beckons and oh. Oh, dear. This is bad. This is a situation that Bruce would not approve of.

But Bruce isn’t here and there’s a dead man (decapitated…brr) two streets away and this is the one responsible.

There’s two of them. They can manage.

“Dismount and keep your hands where I can see ‘em!” Jason warns. The rider does not comply, merely wags the finger and drops the hand.

Smoke pellets are not going to be helpful, not in this weather. They might not even work.

“Last warning! Dismount, hands up! Let’s go!”

The horse tosses its head. The rider is motionless.

But they do whistle, a long, clear blast that skips down the street before being swallowed by the fog. A second later, there’s an answer.

And the sound of another horse.

This one’s bigger, Tim thinks. All right. So there’s at least two people in on…on whatever this is-WHAT IS THAT.

It’s a horse, it’s definitely a horse, but it’s. It’s _glowing_ , like some sort of escapee from Hell, and the rider…

Logically, they have to be human. But Tim’s gut response is that they’re not. That _face_ , dear _God_ …pits for eyes, and stitches forming a monstrous grin…

He can’t really complain when Jason shoves him back a few inches.

 ** _“Come down to the ground, little birds.”_** the monster rasps, eyes glowing yellow in the streetlights. The horse rears up, pawing at the air. **_“Come down and say hello to Scarecrow!”_**

Stall. Bruce will make his way over here eventually, they need to stall. But carefully-that’s a scythe the new one has.

“Why don’t you come up here?”

That is not what Tim had in mind.

The stitched head tips upwards, looking like it’s falling off, and from this angle the stitches look like teeth.

**_“Such bravado…I expected nothing less.”_ **

Tim sees her first-a flash of red, plunging neckline-but before he can gesture her away, Scarecrow has turned his horse. The woman gasps, backs into the alley, and Jason-

Every goddamn time. Jason has the self-preservation of a toddler.

He’s swinging down before Tim can stop him and he has no choice but to follow. Unfortunately, this ends exactly as well as you’d expect.

But not in the way you’d expect.

Scarecrow twists (and twists and twists-how?) and the next thing Tim knows, there’s a cloud of bitter white gas in his face, stinging his mouth and nose and making him cough. He falls, landing hard on the stones, and looks up into…into…

The eyes. The monster’s eyes are gleaming yellow, slicing through the dark like lanterns, and _something_ with long legs moves behind the stitched mouth.

**_“Hello!”_ **

Beside him, Jason’s deathly still and when Tim tries to reach for him his hand lands in a puddle of blood.

_No no please no-_

The horse-wreathed in flames, Tim sees that now, it wasn’t glowing at all-neighs, a hellish sound that grates against his ears and Jay’s still not moving and there’s so much blood-

The grey rider looks impassively down at them, a black hole where the face should be, before turning away. Scarecrow cackles.

**_“Tell Batman I want to meet him!”_ **

And then he’s gone. Tim struggles to his knees, trying hard not to vomit, and gives Jason a hard shake. His neck’s at a horribly awkward angle and he can’t tell where the blood’s coming from and _Jay no wake up you gotta wake up-_

 _Something_ big lands in front of them, claws reaching forward, and Tim swings his staff, hits them with a satisfying **crack!**

“Get back! Get away!”

They lift a hand and there’s a prick at the side of his neck.

Then the world falls away.

THE END


End file.
